


All I've Got (Is Your Hand)

by kayura_sanada



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And a little talking, M/M, No really it's just pure sex, PWP, Pretty Much Nothing But, Stony Bingo Fill, Temperature Play, mostly about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve always had nightmares, and Tony always had to listen to Steve wake in a cold sweat, unable to do anything for him. Until he thinks of something that just might work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I've Got (Is Your Hand)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the world. Marvel does. I also don't own Damien Rice's "Cold Water," from which this story title is derived.

Steve's breath wheezed in the darkened room. The man's trembling shook the whole bed. Tony knew better than to try to touch the man, but still he made his presence known, shifting around slightly in bed and calling softly, "hey, you're awake now, shh. It's still the twenty-first century. You're still with your lovable old Tony. And I haven't aged to ninety yet, thank fuck. Although, you know, if those Hydra assholes can upload themselves, then you know I could. Maybe into an android body? A cyborg body would just be a horrible amount of upkeep; I'd be some sort of Frankenstein monster of donated parts after a while. Android would be much better."

Finally, Steve managed this choked coughing sound that meant he was trying to laugh. Tony touched his arm then, knowing Steve had come down off the high.

Steve gripped his hand in his own. "Sorry," he said, as he did every time.

"Shut your face," Tony said, as  _he_  did every time. "It's my turn next, you know." It was supposed to be a joke, but Steve just squeezed his hand tighter. Maybe Steve felt like Tony did, that watching the other have a nightmare was worse than having his own.

Tony already knew that Steve wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. He also knew better than to propose what he was considering when Steve was still shuddering from the aftereffects of his nightmare. And it was definitely the most common one – the one about being trapped in the cold. Because Steve could not stop shuddering, and even sitting up in bed, he had the blankets wrapped around his shoulders.

Tony tugged Steve's arm. "Get down here," he said, and Steve slowly slid back to a prone position, even though he wouldn't be letting himself close his eyes any time soon. It was times like this that Tony actually regretted not having his arc reactor anymore; it could have lit the room up. He would have to make do with the lights. "Friday," he said, and before he could even ask for it, his AI turned on the lights in the room, dimming them to merely thirty percent. Tony had slept in his lab plenty of times, with the lights in there on full-blast. But Steve always felt guilty if Tony let him have the bright light, and thirty percent was their compromise.

Steve curled around Tony like he was the only heat blanket in the arctic, his legs and arms more like vines – heavy, thick, unyielding vines – than anything soft and squishy like tentacles. Tony held on to the arm that wrapped like a coil around his chest. For one horrible moment, he was reminded of the heavy feel of the battery strapped to his chest, holding him down. Then the moment passed, and he was able to snuggle up to Steve's warmth.

For a man who thought he was freezing, Steve's body was like a furnace. It always was; it had to do with the higher metabolic functions that led to greater energy emissions, including the energy of heat. It made Steve's cock sometimes like holding a power cell in his hands. Usually Tony kept the air in his room just the tiniest bit colder at night for that very reason. But something Steve didn't know – something Tony would never tell him – was that, when he woke up from his nightmares, Friday's protocol ordered the room's temperature up a few notches. It made it easier for Steve to relax. It also made it easier for Tony to break out in a vicious sweat.

He took deep, clear breaths. Steve was listening for him to go back to sleep. As soon as he managed that feat, Steve would be up and to the gym. But he wouldn't leave until he felt Tony sleep.

After countless nights of this, Tony had learned how to pretend. And about an hour later, when Steve finally believed it enough to kiss the top of his head and move away, the rush of cool air was so relaxing it soothed him straight into true sleep.

His plan of action, so to speak, would have to be soon. This shit was getting in the way of both his rest and, more importantly, his sex life.

* * *

Two birds, he always thought, was just somebody putting limits on themselves.

See, he had a myriad of problems with Steve's nightmares. (Just as, he supposed, Steve had a myriad of problems with his. But, well, they couldn't both be geniuses.) Firstly, these things cost Steve his own rest. Sure, the man needed next to nothing (oh, how he envied him that), but he still needed more than the two or three he might get before his nightmares reared their ugly heads some nights. He also lost his smile, sometimes for hours and hours at a time, even after he beat up poor, unsuspecting punching bags all night. And sometimes getting that smile meant getting Clint to shoot painted arrows at things in the training room, or getting Thor, if he was around, to try a new food (last time it had been enchiladas), or doing something ridiculous himself, like buying flowers or something. (He did not want a repeat performance of that, which had included Cliff's smooching, goo-goo noises and Natasha – Natasha, of all people! – smirking and giggling. Gods, the giggling.)

Those were the biggest issues, but they weren't by far the last. There was also Tony's own lack of sleep, and the deceptions he made whenever the nightmares came. Steve would be upset and likely furious if he ever learned that Tony had altered the temperature and lied about his ability to fall asleep. Of course, there was also the tiny, insignificant detail of the nightmares themselves. Tony might not have been able to do much about the nightmares of Bucky falling or of finding Peggy and dancing with her, only for her to morph into an old woman who couldn't remember the last time they'd spoken to each other. He couldn't do  _much_  for the dreams when Tony did not wake to Hulk's roar, or did not fall out of the portal at all. He couldn't do  _much_  whenever Steve dreamed up some weird scenario where, instead of attacking JARVIS first, Ultron just randomly came to life and killed Tony, instead.

But this one dream. This one recurring nightmare. Tony thought he just might have the answer for that one.

So though it took three days and a surprise visit from some fat douche in a far-too-revealing spandex costume spouting about his brand-new evil scheme, they managed to finally get the damn time to lie down in bed together again, and Tony did not waste his chance. He girded his loins, grabbed a bucket and cooled a bottle of merlot in it, and sat next to Steve on the bed for a quick make-out session. Then he took a deep breath. "I wanted to try something."

Steve lifted up from kissing Tony's throat, one eyebrow raised. "Try something."

Steve could really act the parrot when he wanted to. "Yes. Try something." Tony sat up, as well. "I've actually wanted to try it for a while, but shit keeps happening and I never know if it's the right time, and I don't even know if  _this_  is the right time..."

Steve's chuckle cut him off. The idiot buried his head into Tony's shoulder, until all he could see was a golden tuft of hair. "All right, Tony. What did you want to try?"

This might not go well. It might go horribly. But he'd already considered it carefully, and he knew what definitely  _not_  to do, which left just trying what he thought might work and hoping for the best. Wasn't that how he'd gotten his damn suit? If it could work for Iron Man, then it could work for Captain America. "I want to try..." But the words caught in his throat. He needed to say it without saying  _ice_ , or  _cold_ , or anything else of the sort. But how the hell to do that?

He finally settled on bending down and scooping up an ice cube from the bucket of champagne. "I want you to stick this in my ass?"

Steve stared at him. Then at the ice cube. Then back at him. His lips twitched, like he wasn't certain if he should frown, cock an eyebrow, or laugh. "What?"

Okay. Maybe he hadn't planned  _all_  of this. Maybe he'd been more focused on the logistics. "I – okay, bear with me, all right?"

Steve settled back on the bed. "Isn't that what I've always done?"

"Oh, ha, ha." He had to take another deep breath, because Steve might get upset about  _this_ , too. "Okay. So you have bad memories associated with this stuff, right?" He wiggled the ice cube, even though it was dripping down his fingers and it was so damn cold on his skin it felt hot. He moved it to balance in the palm of his hand. One careful look at Steve showed the man's face had frozen on that bemused expression from earlier. "Okay, yeah, but let me finish, all right? Because you have a problem with this," and he couldn't help wiggling it again, letting it slide amidst its own melted form, giving him a momentary relief from the hot chill, "and I don't. Don't get me wrong, I hate the cold. But not like you. And I thought, maybe, having some control over it...?" Steve's look was morphing from bemused to something else entirely. "Or, yeah, maybe not. Bad idea." He tossed the ice cube, now half its original size, back in the bucket and wiped his hand on his pants. "Right. Sorry."

"No. No." Steve held out a hand. "Just wait a minute, Tony. Give me a chance to think." And Steve actually chuckled. There didn't seem to be a lot of humor in it. He ran the same hand he'd just held out to Tony over his face. "You wanted to do this, what? Because of the dream I had a few nights ago?"

"Before that," Tony said, then wanted to bite his damn tongue off. Steve didn't seem to know whether to look abashed or just horrified. "Did I not explain this right? Here: yes, I think it would be a great – help? – to you. But don't get me wrong here, Rogers. I am not an unwilling or resigned participant. In these hypothetical situations. And by situations I mean sex. A lot of sex. Preferably."

Another choked chuckle, as if Steve had just woken up from another nightmare. "Okay." Still, Tony could feel the weight of Steve's stare as he looked at the edge of the bed, obviously pointed toward the bucket of ice, even though Steve couldn't see it from where he sat. "So just sex. With ice."

The man shivered at the word alone. "With ice  _cubes_ ," Tony said, grateful that he'd at least known not to use the word itself earlier. See? He could use his brain in social situations. Sometimes. "They're tiny. And harmless. In small quantities. Which is what we have." He gestured to the bucket Steve still couldn't see. "Small. All small."

"And... you want me to stick them up your... butt?"

"Well, that part could have gone a little smoother. But... yes?" At the look on Steve's face, Tony reconsidered. "Or no. We could go with no. Whatever works for you."

Steve looked Tony up and down. "And if I suggested we make love in the bathtub?"

Tony shuddered at just the thought of being held down in the water, of Steve lifting his legs and the water sloshing around his ears. He clenched his fists and forced himself to see it the way he was trying to see with Steve. "If... if you let me ride you? If you held me up and you were the one – we can do that." He moved to stand, only to feel Steve's long fingers wrap around his wrist. He looked down. Clear azure eyes stared straight back at him.

"Tony. I would never ask you to..." And then Steve seemed to see what he was saying, that  _Tony_  had asked  _him_  to, and grimaced.

"That's the difference," Tony said, turning so his body faced Steve and sitting cross-legged. "If it was the other way – if it was you on top of me in the water..." Tony shuddered again, the image of Steve holding his hips shifting to another time, another place, and another, much smaller source of water. He gulped in a breath. "I couldn't. No way. But if it – if it was  _you_  beneath  _me?"_  He nodded. That image stayed where it was. He felt fear, still, but it was another kind of fear – the fear of hurting Steve the way he'd been hurt. "You would have to tell me if I... if I did anything. But I could handle that. That's why I'm – I'm  _offering_  this to you." He dared to reach out for Steve's hand, almost jumping in surprise when Steve took it in his. There was far more consideration in Steve's gaze than there'd been a minute ago. "You control it. Every bit of it. How much is too much, how far to go – it's all on you. And the whole time, I'll be with you. I won't let you hurt me, even if you could. And if it works out?  _Sex_ , Steve. Come on."

Another chuckle, this one a bit less like hacking than the one before. Steve shook his head, but those lips were still curled up. "Only you, Tony.  _Ice cubes._  Really."

Tony wondered if Steve would like to know that others actually did, indeed, engage in such sex without therapy as an excuse, but thought that may be a distraction from the point. So he tried a smile instead. "So I haven't freaked you out?"

Now Steve didn't look to the side of the bed at all, and it was just as conspicuous as when he had. One thumb played up and down Tony's knuckles. "It scares me," Steve admitted, ducking his head down as he did. Like it was shameful.

"It should," Tony said. At Steve's glance, cutting through his eyelashes, Tony said, "if – when, if you want? – to do that bathtub thing. If I pushed water over your face, or shoved you beneath the surface..." He shuddered twice before he could find the air to continue. "That would suck," he said lamely.

Steve carded the hand not holding Tony's through his hair. "You want this to help. I don't know if it will."

"If nothing else," Tony said desperately, "you'll have a  _good_  memory of the cold."

And Steve smiled at him for that. Tony recognized it for what it was. Before Steve could say anything – or more importantly, back out – he threw off his shirt and flung it into the depths of his room. Steve huffed a breath and did the same, but with aim. Tony had forgotten Steve had bought them a hamper. Who owned hampers in the twenty-first century? Why, Steve fuckin' Rogers, of course. And now, by association, Tony.

For a split second, Tony wondered if he should be the first to take off all his clothes, if that would make it easier for Steve, or if it would be better for Steve to take the lead in everything, including stripping. What the hell had he been planning this whole time, again? Oh, yeah. Getting Steve to agree. He hadn't exactly worked out much else. Wow. Where the hell did all his genius go when he really needed it?

Steve caught his hesitation before he could think to shove it away, and the man froze all the way down to his fingers, wrapped around the button of his jeans. "Tony?"

Tony just decided the hell with it and stretched his legs out, his fingers working at the clasp of his own pants. "Nope, no worries here, Captain. Steve," he said, when he saw Steve hesitate again at the title. "Just – stripping. Yeah. Do you wanna go first?" A useless question, because he was already sliding the zipper down and shucking his pants off entirely. One would never have guessed his line of conquests backed up to the damn Pacific. Steve was much, much slower, watching Tony with a narrow gaze. "I am not even remotely concerned," he said, even as he shucked off his pants and kicked them off the edge of the bed. His Captain America boxers – because he hadn't expected to have the opportunity tonight and he's been feeling horny that morning – showed off their stripes as he shifted. Steve did not move to lose his jeans. He didn't really move much at all. Tony sat up.

"You're scared." Steve's hands fell to his sides.

"No. Well, yes. But not like you are!" Goddammit, Tony hated his mouth sometimes. He groaned. Well, it wasn't like his mouth was good for much more than lies and blowjobs, anyway. He'd always been about the hands, personally. So he lay down amongst the sheets, kicking the covers away until they were half off the bed, too, and turned onto his back. He palmed his dick through the boxers. Steve's gaze fell to them, because how could they not? They were colored like Steve's shield, and the man loved his stupid damn shield. That blue gaze caught and held on Tony's crotch. With one hand, Tony cupped his sac, then slowly slid up his member to the tip. He scraped the heel of his hand against the head as he held out his hand. "Come on, old man," Tony said. "Together."

Steve groaned and gave in.

They both got naked then, Tony waiting until Steve had everything but his own boxers off (plain blue, bah – but they matched his eyes, so never mind, they were fine), and waited still, until those blue boxers were halfway down Steve's hips, before he let go of himself long enough to push off his last article of clothing, toeing off his socks before Steve crawled up on top of him. The ice sat in the bucket still, likely half melted by now. Tony hoped there would be enough, that it would last long enough. Waiting or taking a break might completely destroy all this.

Steve looked Tony over. "You're sure about this?"

Tony nodded. "I'm sure. But if you're worried, all either of us needs to do is say stop and we stop. Okay?"

The idea actually made the tension in the line of Steve's broad shoulders sag, and Tony wanted to smack himself for not thinking of it sooner. Technically, what they were doing was BDSM. He should have made sure Steve understood that. Even though it was therapy, it was still  _sex_.

"You're in control," Tony said, and the tension came back all over again. Tony raised his hands to knead those shoulders, that chest. Steve's pecs stood out like buttes against the long surface of his skin. "There's no reason to freak out, Steve. It's the same as on the battlefield. You call the shots, and I'll follow your lead."

Steve nuzzled down into Tony's neck. It was a hot stretch of skin against his own, accentuated by a puff of air. Tony leaned his head back for better access, and Steve licked delicately at his pulse point. "I thought you didn't do well with leadership."

"I don't." But still he followed Steve's silent command as he nudged Tony's jaw with his nose, letting his head fall to the side. Steve nibbled along his jawline, down to his collarbone. He sucked hard. Tony arced his back with a hiss of breath. He dragged his hands up Steve's chest to his hair and tugged at the strands. Heat radiated up and down his chest as Steve mouthed at him, finally licking his way down Tony's chest, taking care to kiss the place where the arc reactor had lain – down to Tony's navel. That hot tongue pistoned in to his belly button. Tony squirmed and groaned. Hell, if Steve didn't want to do the ice thing that night, they could always do it some other time. Sex was  _on_  right now.

But of course, once Steve took on a mission, there was no stopping him until it was complete. So just when that mouth was getting close to his hip, Steve pulled up. The sudden chill was enough to make Tony shiver. Steve's eyes caught it, watching as Tony's muscles jumped along his shoulders and neck. "Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Steve." Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. Fuck, I'm gonna be mad if you don't do  _something_."

This time the chuckle was louder. "All right, all right." And Steve moved, leaned over the side of the bed, and pulled up the bucket as if it was filled with balloons and not ice and champagne. Deltoid and bicep flexed as he sat the bucket on Tony's nightstand. He didn't even care about condensation or anything; he was just proud of Steve for thinking of keeping the thing from updumping in the middle of their session.

"This," Tony said, "is going to be the sexiest fucking therapy session anyone's ever had."

Another laugh, and Steve shook his head. "You're ridiculous."

But a little more tension slid off Steve's shoulders, and his arms came to frame Tony's head. Steve rested down on his elbows, his lower body lying splayed against Tony's own. It was hot, a furnace, with the man's cock a soft poker against his abdomen, sifting through the coarse hairs neatly trimmed down to Tony's own swelling member. Steve swooped slowly in for a kiss, his lips soft, his tongue warm as it slipped between Tony's own lips and plunged sedately in. Tony heard Steve press his weight into the sheets, felt those muscles shift until the weight over him lightened on his left and heightened on his right. Then he heard the sound of the bucket, the ice clinking gently against its rim.

Tony had banked on Steve being okay with ice cubes. Tony had tested it once, handing Steve his own lemonade and acting like he'd given him the wrong glass – only for Steve do be gulping it down like nothing was wrong. Because apparently, Steve had as much trouble with ice cubes as Tony did with showers – which was to say, none at all.

Steve could easily grab one of the things, and hold it between his fingers, and even bring it back over the bed to Tony. But of course Steve would hesitate all over again when envisioning what to do with the stupid thing. So when Steve focused on Tony, it was to find the man's mouth open wide and one eyebrow raised in some sort of silent challenge.

Steve bent down, kissed the corner of Tony's mouth, and finally dipped the ice cube inside. It was shockingly cold, especially with Steve's heat surrounding him, but he refused to flinch even slightly. And, well, it wasn't like this was the first time he'd had ice cubes in his mouth. It was something Steve probably did, even now. Sucking them down once one's drink was gone, slurping them up as they melted at the top of one's cup. Heck, Tony had even deliberately stuffed some into the sides of his mouth whenever he came back from a brawl with the inside of his mouth cut open. So it wasn't new or exciting. Something normal to ease them both in.

Of course,  _ease_  wasn't exactly what Tony was going for, so Steve shouldn't have been surprised when Tony wrapped his hands into that silky hair again and pulled Steve's lips to his own. And Tony certainly didn't mind the way Steve's startled grunt melted like the ice, his lips going soft and pliant against Tony's. The ice was hot in his mouth, painfully so, and it was in him to try to move it around from cheek to cheek to try to keep it from getting too bad. But then Steve's tongue tipped against it, and the jolt that burst through the man went from his head down through his shoulders and chest, all the way to his legs. Tony let go of that sun-kissed hair, worried that Steve needed to pull back. But instead Steve just dug down deeper, his tongue delving so far inside Tony's mouth he almost choked on it. He rolled his head back and let Steve in. Steve leaned further over Tony, arcing his back to get a more looming, protective stance over him, that huge body acting as shield more than the vibranium weapon ever could. While Tony feared moving the cube might make Steve worry, Steve took control himself, licking at the side of the ice, pushing it to the corner of Tony's mouth so he could plunge deeper. And with Steve's heat pressing in on him, the ice melted quickly. Tony couldn't swallow it all. Not with Steve's mouth on his. Water and spittle trailed down the sides of his lips.

Finally Steve leaned back, his eyes a little wide. That startling blue was almost devoured by the black of his pupils. He licked his lips. "That..."

Tony smirked. He didn't bother trying to lick up the moisture; it had already trickled down his jaw and dripped from his neck to the sheets. "Pretty nifty, huh? I certainly liked the kissing part." And Tony pulled Steve back, trying for a little more of those kisses. Steve obliged.

This time when Steve grabbed another ice cube, he didn't hesitate at all before slipping it between Tony's lips and delving in after it.

The ice was cold, of course. The chill of it made tiny shivers slip up his neck. But much more than that was the almost oppressive heat of Steve's mouth, his tongue, his entire body as he pressed his hands on Tony's cheeks and tilted Tony's head to link their tongues over and over again. Once again, the ice melted and cooled to fresh water and slipped out the edges of his lips, leaving tinglingly chilly trails down his cheeks. This time, Steve pulled back and licked them up.

Tony smirked up at Steve. "Have you done this before?" Steve asked.

It usually wasn't something they really got into. Steve didn't get too upset with his previous liaisons, but Tony really didn't want to push his luck on that. So it took him a bit to realize that yes, Steve really was asking that question, and yes, the man was actually waiting for an answer.

For almost a full ten seconds, Tony parroted a fish.

Then something twisted in Steve's gaze, and Tony gasped out, "no. Drinks and stuff, sure – I don't just mean  _drinking_  the drinks, Steve." He smirked again at Steve's blush. "Which we can totally do some time, you and me. But not – I mean, no. It's, uh – okay, don't make fun, all right? I didn't know about it. Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not some sexual deviant. I've had plenty of sex, don't get me wrong, but it's not like I've done everything. It was usually just, you know. Fun? Random?" The real words, of course, stuck like glue to his tongue, far too bitter and transparent to actually use.  _An escape._

But Steve had gotten a lot better at reading those secrets, and he smiled softly. Tony could tell just when Steve followed that train of thought, too, because one moment he was smiling at Tony like he'd been given a nice present, and the next he was beaming. Of course he had managed to also figure out  _why_  Tony had never done anything more with anyone else.

BDSM – whether it was something big, like pony play or servant-master or whatever, or even something miniscule, like blindfolds or, say, playing with ice cubes, took  _trust_. A lot of it. It meant handing over your body and your mind, giving someone else control over you. And as much as Tony loved to play, his body and heart weren't things to toy around with. Not when he couldn't control how far things went.

Steve rewarded him with a kiss, and then another, and another, until he trailed down Tony's neck to his collarbone and then his chest, his tongue lapping at the peaked nipple and finally sucking one into his hot mouth and pulling. Tony thought Steve would tease the other, as he usually did, but instead he felt Steve's weight over him shift and flex, and suddenly something wet and freezing cold touched the already pert nub of his right nipple. He yelped and arced into Steve's mouth, his hands grappling with the blond locks. Somewhere between Steve lifting his head and the ice dripping onto his chest to run down his pec, his yelp turned into a moan. "Holy shit, I didn't think that would feel so – fuck, Steve, don't  _stop_."

Steve huffed a laugh. The air ghosted over his wet skin, and he shivered. Steve quickly dipped back down to warm him up. Of course it made him shiver all over again, but he held the back of Steve's head and arced into it and the heat, with the ice still dripping cold water down his chest, brought every nerve to its height. He shifted on the bed, not knowing whether to flinch away from the cold or surge up into the warmth. "Steve," he said, then again, and again, because he couldn't figure out just what he wanted to tell Steve to do.

The heat of the man above him flamed out along Tony's chest and stomach, centering on the dick pulsing along his hip. Tony reached up into that, the hand not tugging on Steve's hair going down to the small of the man's back and curling into the muscle there. He wrapped one leg around Steve's and held his breath. "Shit," he said, and hissed lightly as Steve finally pulled back, ignoring Tony's insistent hand at his back, and put the ice back on his nipple. The feeling of cold so freezing it burned returned, and Steve actually rubbed the cube over the nub until it went numb, the surrounding area drizzled with the wet chill of the ice's runoff. Small lines of cold ran down to his stomach, making the muscles jump. Steve's eyes followed the wet trails, his gaze mesmerized by them. By Tony's reaction. Tony hardly remembered what he'd done all this for until he saw those blue eyes darken nearly to black. The ice in Steve's hand didn't scare him at all. The cold, gushing over him now that Steve had pulled away a bit, brought Tony's body to alert. His focus ranged from the legs encasing his hips to the ice now singing a new path from his right nipple to his left. Steve circled the nipple his lips and tongue had just wet before he leaned down and kissed it. Tony groaned. Heat touched the nub, chasing away the touch of the ice.

"Fuck, Steve. Get down here." He pulled at the man's hair, careful not to pull too hard. Steve, never one to refuse Tony much, leaned down and did just that, yanking Tony's bottom lip between his teeth. He held the ice still as he worked his tongue into Tony's mouth, and the cold numbed just enough to make the flowing stream of melted water a shock every time a new droplet slid down the well-worn trail. Then that cube was gone, too, and Steve pulled Tony flush against his heat, the water sliding against the both of them, chilling them for a minute before it became hot, too. When Steve let go, one hand was already reaching for the bucket.

Tony smirked. "Hey up there."

Steve's smile was far gentler. "Hey down there."

This time Steve put the ice cube between his teeth and bent down to meet Tony's lips with his own. Tony opened for him.

Steve moved against him, even as the cold froze their mouths. Tony heard the bucket move, but when he turned his head to look, Steve touched his cheek, turning his attention once more to the kiss. This time Steve pulled away in time for Tony to swallow the water and bite the shrunken ice cube between his teeth. One of Steve's hands was in the bucket, but his full attention was on Tony. "Are you sure about this?" Steve asked.

Tony blinked up at him. Compared to when they'd started, Steve was much more relaxed. Of course, sex could do that to a man. But those brows were still pulled low over those dilated eyes, and a frown flirted with the edges of those lips. And Tony realized Steve was asking about the whole  _'stick this in my butt'_  brilliance that Tony had referenced earlier. He flushed again at the memory. In reality, he'd thought at first that it might be uncomfortable. Now, though... "Steve, if you don't go through with this – granted, I would never blame you or be angry or whatever, go at your own pace – but if you don't  _finish_  this, I think I might go insane."

Those lips lost their frown, but the puckered brows remained steadfast. "You're sure."

" _Yes_ , Steve. I... I know I'm safe with you at my back." Or his front. Or anywhere else. He grinned. "Just try to be careful, you know? The ice can get kind of sharp as it melts."

If anything, the warning made the pucker dig even deeper into Steve's face. It was enough to cool the flaming, raging hard-on he had been competing with for a while now. "Hey." he scooted up, pulling away slightly from Steve's lap, until his knees rested beneath the man's bulk instead of his thighs. "You okay? We can stop."

Steve shook his head. "That's not it." He frowned. "Well, perhaps it's part of it. But..." Steve ran a hand through his already mussed hair. The loss of the perfect Captain America coif never failed to make Tony's dick flip. "Whenever I – dream. It's always about the rush to the ice, and the cold. The color." And Steve held up one of the ice cubes, the sound of the things in the bucket, now on the edge of the bed, to hell with the safety of not knocking it over, clinking and sloshing together. "The blue-white. But I saw something else that glowed with that light, and it guided me. Like a beacon, showing me where to go." Steve looked at Tony's chest, even though the light wasn't there any more. "So then it was just the cold and the solitude, and the waking." Steve's hand curled into a fist over the ice cube. "The things that the ice had taken from me."

Tony winced. These were things he couldn't help with, no matter how much he wished he could. He couldn't give Steve all the things he deserved.

Steve's dick sat, merely half-hard, between his legs. Tony's was quickly getting there, too. "But after the attack in New York," Steve continued, carefully keeping from speaking the word  _Chitauri_ , a surefire way to get Tony's dick softer than cookie dough, "I found I still had things I could grab on to, and the nightmares altered again." Water dripped from Steve's clenched hand, and Tony reached for it, pulling it to his lips. He kissed Steve's knuckles, his warm hands encasing Steve's own. Finally Steve sighed and dropped the ice cube to the sheets. There wasn't much left of it. "Most often I still find myself – trapped – there." Steve's voice faltered, but he pushed through. Tony's boner was a thing of the past. "But sometimes – sometimes it's not me."

Tony hissed in a breath, not daring to believe what he was deducing.

Steve's hand was wet and cold when it suddenly turned and clasped his. "I don't know how I see it. But I watch as a plane – and sometimes just – just the armor," he choked out, "goes under. And doesn't come up. I don't know where I am, seeing it. But I do. And I can't get to you, because I'm stuck, too." Steve's hand hurt on his. Tony didn't make a sound of protest.

Maybe, Tony thought, he hadn't chosen correctly when he'd asked Steve to use the ice on him.

"I just..." Steve blew out a breath. "Thought I should tell you."

Tony shifted until he got his legs free. He wrapped them around Steve's bent form. "The suit's thrusters could melt the ice," he said. "And if they failed, the suit could keep me alive, even with all the tech malfunctioning, with its, you know,  _armor_. Oh, and the air intake valves. And if  _they_  fail, I have the ability to pop off the helmet." Steve frowned at Tony's words, either unconvinced or just unimpressed. Tony rubbed one ankle over Steve's hip. "And most importantly, we aren't alone in this. If I'm in danger, I have you. And Hulk – and Bruce – and Thor, and Widow, who could scare the ice away, or Barton, who could annoy the ice away, or Vision, who could slip  _through_  the ice." Steve looked only slightly mollified. "And if I'm alone on the battlefield, I know you and the others will come for me. And you're warm enough to heat me right up when you do. I know you, Steve. You don't leave a man behind. You'd come for me. You wouldn't be somewhere just watching. And nothing would keep you from getting to me."

Steve leaned forward and brought his dry hand to Tony's face. He traced the curve of his eyebrow, the corner of his eye, down past his cheekbone, until finally resting his thumb on Tony's lips, the bottom of his palm lightly scraping against his goatee. "Are you trying to logic my fears away?"

Tony shrugged and moved his lips against that finger. "Is it working?" He sucked the pad of Steve's thumb into his mouth.

Steve's gaze dropped to Tony's lips. "Ah... a little?"

Tony lightly bit into Steve's flesh, just enough to hold the thumb in his mouth. "We can't make promises about the future," he said, licking Steve's thumb in apology before releasing it. "But I can offer you everything I have. I won't go down without a fight. Even if I have to give my life to save the world – again – I'll still do everything I can to make it back. And you guys can get my heart started again."

It wasn't a pretty promise of never leaving, but they both knew better than to say such things, anyway. Instead it was the truth, and the best that Tony could give. He couldn't stop being Iron Man – couldn't stop being who he was. And he couldn't promise to be careful, or to put himself first. These were promises as empty as saying he'd be fine. Just as Steve couldn't promise to be safe. They were Avengers. They fought anything from Hydra to Chitauri to insane technophiles with electric whips. Their lives weren't just theirs alone.

"Then, maybe..." And Steve ducked his head for a moment before lifting his gaze. The effect made Tony's heart flutter. Shit, Steve could pull the innocent game like a pro. "Maybe no inviting the bad guys to our homes?"

Tony rolled his eyes and shoved him. Steve hardly moved, even though Tony hadn't held back on his push. "Yes,  _thank you_ , Steve. I already learned my lesson on that one."

Steve slowly lowered him back down to the bed, even though they had both lost their erections during the talk. "And you fell into water."

"Warm water." Didn't mean he hadn't been fighting against more than just the building wrapped around him. But this wasn't the night for his nightmares. He reached up and cupped Steve's cheeks. "It must have reminded you of some... bad things." Not just of himself driving a plane into the ice, but of a certain other beloved person falling to their death. "Do you not want to do this? We can just... not do this." Let the world crumble if anyone ever found out Tony Stark actually invited a night of nothing but platonic cuddling.

"No." Steve pulled Tony once more underneath him, until their dicks matched up together. Flaccidity quickly changed to perked and jumping. While they were still sensitive, Steve grabbed them both in one hand, just letting the calluses of his hand rub against the soft flesh. Tony leaned his head back and breathed deep. Steve bent down and got to work making up for the excitement they'd lost.

It never took long with Steve. Never took more than a few seconds to get Tony from busy with some project or paperwork or just mental ramblings to zeroed in and hyper-focused on the man next to him, behind him, above him. He should have been well past his prime – again, let no one know he even so much as thought such a thing – but he never felt like he was. Steve was more about quality than quantity, and made sure that every time they had sex, it  _lasted_. Tony was glad for all the myriad of sexual experiences he'd had, if only because they'd taught him endurance and stamina. Otherwise, there would be no way he could last the sometimes hours it would take for Steve to finally let their orgasms hit.

And holy  _shit_. Had he mentioned the orgasms?

Just thinking about them made Steve's work bringing his erection back that much easier, and in only a few minutes, their dicks were hard again, talk of nightmares be damned. Steve took to pleasuring Tony like it was a god-given gift, searching out the tiniest reactions and playing with them until Tony was gasping and bucking like a virgin. A delicate nibbling on the pulse point on the right side of his neck, a brush of a hand over the flesh on the side of his torso. And then all Tony had as a warning was the sudden sound of the ice clinking in the bucket before the cold feel of them ran down his stomach to his belly button He jumped at the feel of it, carefully held between Steve's fingers. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he whispered, even as his muscles quivered beneath the cold. "You have control here. The ice can only touch us if you want it to."

Steve snatched his lips in a kiss, his tongue darting in, the heat of him chasing away the sting of the ice. "I know," he said, and let the ice lay on Tony's gut while his hands trailed down Tony's body. "Tell me how to do this."

So Tony did. He had Steve move the bucket again so it wouldn't tip over at the worst possible moment. He spread his legs and asked Steve to prepare him. And holy crow, nothing beat Steve preparing him. The man had been so ridiculously new at it when he'd started that he'd taken nearly a half hour 'preparing' Tony that first time. Tony had been a blathering mess by the end of it, and now Steve seemed to think it his duty to reenact the event every time. One finger curled over his rim, around the pucker, teasing, as another rubbed at his perineum, just behind his sac. Tony grabbed at the sheets before Steve even so much as put a single finger inside. His chest heaved. Steve, pulled into a sitting position inside Tony's hips, was too far away to counteract the chill of the melted ice against his stomach. It left his muscles trembling as Steve slowly worked the tip of his finger just barely through the pucker of Tony's hole. Tony didn't bother trying to figure out how long it took for Steve to stretch even the first knuckle into his rim, or how long until that finger sat all the way to the knuckle inside him. He only knew he was slowly falling apart, Steve's free hand rubbing into the warming water and playing a single wet digit up the underside of his cock. It was just cold enough to make him jump, and then Steve bent his head and licked it up, his finger sitting still as smooth stone inside him. He bucked his hips on it. "Fuck, Steve."

Only the tiniest of twitches from that damned finger. He groaned.

Steve's fingers were bigger than they seemed when a man just simply looked at them, and longer, too. Everything about Steve was bigger. His dick wasn't some sort of elephant cock, but it was thicker and longer than Tony's. It meant Steve needed to put no less than three fingers in to keep Tony from feeling too much pain when Steve entered him. And  _that_  meant Steve got to take his damned time, curling one finger up and down, twisting it back and forth, and finally plunging in and out, slowly at first, so slowly it made Tony's anus clench over and over again with the need to have it back inside him, Steve holding Tony down with one hand on his wet stomach, the water so warm by then it should have been sizzling. And then after eternity, Steve used his second finger. The lube was cold, Steve having to touch up the amount he'd used at first, and Tony shivered slightly around it. It quickly warmed to the heat of their skin.

It felt like Steve went even slower with his two fingers, digging them deep, to the hilt, and then playing with Tony's rock-hard cock to coax some pre-cum from the tip. The bastard bent down and licked the dribble from his tip before slowly scissoring his fingers open and closed inside Tony's heat. Tony had to bite his lip to keep from screaming at Steve to  _hurry up_. And of course Steve took exception to that, and Tony ended up moaning into that mouth as Steve twisted his fingers again, until they curled against that roughened nub within him. His whole body jerked. A drop of warm water ran down his side.

Over and over again, Steve tested Tony's limits with another light touch against his prostate, until Tony was a squirming mess, short nails scoring marks into Steve's perfectly sculpted shoulders and arms and back, legs wrapped tight around Steve's waist. "Fuck, Steve, goddammit." He stretched his neck back, an invitation too good for Steve to pass up. And while the man pulled short whimpers out of him with his hot tongue on Tony's pulse and his fingers sliding out of his body, Steve's body pulled away, as well. Tony glared murder at him.

"How do you want to do this?"

The question pulled him from his thoughts of getting Steve inside him  _right then, goddammit_ , and reminded him he was supposed to be doing some damn bondage play. "Right. Fuck. Okay. Um. Anywhere goes, just, if you put one in me, put it in straight, any edges that could become sharp lying flat. And don't... let me move around too much, or I might dislodge it and... and, you know. Not good times."

Steve nodded, his entire expression pulled momentarily into that 'Captain' face. "All right." And he reached over to the ice.

Despite himself, Tony found himself tensing up somewhat. It wasn't that he was afraid. It was just that he knew exactly how discordant the feeling would be to the flush washing up and down his body. It was a feeling of anticipation that he hadn't accounted for. He hadn't thought he would  _like_  the experience of being warmed, over and over again, by Steve's heat. So when Steve turned back to him, he tightened his legs more securely around the man and arced his back until he could feel Steve's cock against the back of his sac. Their eyes caught. A small fear darted in those dilated eyes, and Tony wondered if maybe he was pushing Steve too far again. But Steve just wrapped his arm until his hand splayed against the small of Tony's back. The other hand held one small ice cube. Tony's gaze followed it as Steve lowered it to his dick.

The first touch was from a stray drop, a freezing cold touch of water against the tip of his cock. His entire damn body spasmed at it. He nearly banged his head against the headboard. "Fuck," he breathed. Then, "fucking shit, Steve, if you're stopping for my sake I will  _kill_  you."

Steve chuckled. "All right, then," he breathed, and bent to once more lick at the tip, this time following the wet trail of the water. Tony's breathing was so loud it seemed to echo. The next drip was deliberate, but evoked no less a response. Again, Steve followed it down to the base of Tony's cock. Tony didn't know how to respond to it; the cold burst against the tight heat hardening his length, pushed him away from the edge he'd been fighting since Steve had slid his second damn finger inside him. But then the flaming scorch of Steve's body followed right after. That dainty tongue alone would be enough to bring him to the edge again, but the  _difference_  of it all, the cold and the hot, over and over again, kept his body constantly confused as to what to feel, how to react. All he was left to do was shudder and take it, each time, as Steve slowly slid the cube down his cock, mouth sucking at the skin even as it chilled. Droplets caught in the slight dip between his cock and balls, quivering against the soft skin, until Steve dipped right in after them, curling the tip of his tongue out to catch the pooling flecks. Tony hands gripped the sheets, Steve's hair, slid against those shoulders. He thought he might have actually keened.

They went back and forth from the very edge for what felt like hours, the ice cube eventually melting to match the width of his dick, until Steve just let it sit there in his hand and sucked around it, driving Tony to near madness. The cold was just enough to keep him from being able to slip off the cliff into the bright light of orgasm. He was near sobbing by the time the cold finally depleted and Steve pulled away. "Fuck.  _Fuck_." He reached for Steve, but the man just laughed and pulled further away. Enough brain cells snapped together long enough for Tony to realize the man was actually going for more fucking ice. "I should never have asked you to do this. You're worse than usual."

Steve actually chuckled. Whatever flash of fear had once been in his gaze, it was long gone now. Now only the tiniest sliver of pure blue remained, just enough to put an almost wicked sparkle in those darkened eyes. Steve loomed over him as he searched out his next target on Tony's body. Tony could only lie limp and gasp for air. Every single damn nerve in his body was tingling, vibrating on the cusp of release. "Fuck, Steve. I'm not... I won't make it at this rate."

That only made Steve's grin widen, though his head ducked down in a sudden bid for shyness. "You mean to tell me I'm making the great Tony Stark lose control? In  _bed?"_

"Yeah, yuck it up, Rogers. Just  _hurry up_."

Steve's grin was downright evil. Tony would get his revenge on that grin. "Nope. You said you wanted it in the butt."

"Fucking–"

One touch of that wet freeze against his ass, and Tony nearly shot off the fucking bed. He grappled with anything he could reach. Everything in him tensed, and thank everything he'd read enough to see he needed to be prepared, because there would have been no way Steve could have gotten that ice cube inside him without scraping rough edges against his flesh. Steve pressed down on his stomach with one hand, warning Tony to keep still as he continued. He barely managed it. There was no way to describe the feeling of that level of cold breaching his inner walls. It felt so much more unnatural than anything he'd ever done with a man. That was a source of heat. More heat than perhaps even the mouth. And suddenly it was  _cold_. He made some weird noise, somewhere between a yelp and a gasp. His nails dug in again, and he realized he was curling his fingers in Steve's scalp. He couldn't let go if he tried.

Steve watched his fingers carefully, his brows drawn slightly as he moved the ice cube into Tony's hole. His entire body curled around Tony's entrance, his knees pressed between Tony's legs, his chest pointed to Tony's stomach, curled up and still glistening from when they'd rubbed the remains of the ice cube between their bodies. It made his nipples shine. His face leaned down enough to partially hide his eyes from Tony, his bangs falling in slight clumps down to his brow, one of the few tells that Steve was nearly as lost as Tony. And then there was the hard gaze as Steve forced himself to watch his movements carefully, as if Tony was some eggshell and the tiniest of winds might crack him apart. Though, at the moment, that was almost what he felt like.

He whined. He couldn't move, couldn't wriggle around as if to fight the intrusion. Not with the both of them so new to this. Not without putting himself at risk for something far worse than some damn cold. But  _damn_ , the cold. It was... was... the only good thing about it was that it pulled him from the edge he'd been clinging to. He finally had some goddamn breathing room, but it was at the cost of his... of everything. He wanted Steve on him so bad he actually  _whined_  again, like a fucking dog or something. "Steve... Steve..." But he couldn't find the damn control to articulate properly, and the bastard looked like he was ready to pull back or something, like Tony might be asking him to  _stop_. "Hnnnn... no, fuck, keep going, just... I need..." He made grabby hands for Steve's face. Steve let him pull the man up to seal their lips together.

The ice cube was in him no more than a centimeter or so, but it was enough to make everything in him twist and clamp. The fire Steve's tongue stoked just made the feeling from below even stranger, right on the edge of painful, sitting without being moved against his skin. It was quickly melting within him. Drops of cold water slid past the clench of his hole and dribbled down his ass to the sheets. He moaned deep into Steve's mouth. Steve held Tony's hips with one hand, still careful to make sure Tony didn't squirm, and held the back of Tony's head with his other. "Fuck, you're beautiful like this," Steve said, even though Tony couldn't imagine how a grown man acting like a dog could be hot. But whatever; he wasn't able to find the words at the moment to argue properly.

"It's... mostly..." And by then it was, little more than a tiny sliver Tony could feel rubbing dangerously against his skin and water running in tiny streams down his ass, forming a little pool on the sheets beneath him.

Steve held him down tighter. "Don't move." His breath gushed over Tony's face, and Steve pulled him into another quick kiss before pulling back and looking down. "Beautiful," he murmured again. For the record, Tony most certainly did not blush in response. Because he was a grown ass man who was experienced at sex.

"Steve," he managed, and got the sound of the damn ice bucket again in response. He thought he might be learning some sort of Pavlovian response to it, because for some reason, his entire body flooded with heat at the sound of the ice sloshing together.

"Hold still," Steve said again, his free hand once more holding Tony's waist. Or maybe he'd never let go of it. Tony was losing track.

The ice was just as cold as before, yet Tony couldn't help reacting like he'd never felt it before, nearly arcing his entire body to get away from it as it pulled him once more from the grip of release, his orgasm taunting him as it danced away. Tony closed his eyes and threw his head back, the only reaction he  _could_  have, as Steve held the rest of him still as he slowly inserted the ice further this time, pausing once, then again. Tony cracked his eyes open when Steve stopped again, only to find Steve studying him. He shivered and quaked at the melting ice inside him and gasped up at Steve. "I need you in me," he said, and the very last glimmer of blue smoked out.

Steve very carefully lifted Tony's body, one arm beneath his back and the other wrapped around one of his legs, guiding his movements, ensuring he stayed straight as he lifted himself up. Steve held him in those serum-strong arms and leaned down to lick at Tony's dripping rim. He actually cried out. It was  _hot_. Like lava against his hole, soaking up the freezing water as it pushed out from within him. And then when his new position pulled the water further inside him instead of letting gravity take it to the sheets, Steve gently slid his tongue inside, chasing after it. Tony had no idea how he managed to keep himself still; it might possibly have been solely because he knew Steve would never forgive himself if he actually injured Tony with the ice, or because he felt its sharpening edges against his skin again. But either way, he managed, through much trembling of his stomach muscles, to keep himself steady. He had to thank Steve's martial arts training for that, too, or else he would have a stitch in his side or a burning in his muscles. Instead he just felt the warm slide of Steve's tongue within him, actually touching the edge of the ice and licking at it like it was a fucking treat. Tony didn't even manage a moan at the feel of hot against cold within him; it was more like some garbled mess of groaning sounds. He couldn't reach Steve at that angle, so he was left curling his grip into the sheets as Steve darted his tongue in and out, leaving Tony hot and cold, hot and cold. He shook his head and babbled. He didn't even know about what. He thought it might have been a mix of begging, cursing, and some weird algorithm that might have been some secret decoding virus or just the exact statistical measurement of how long it would take for Tony's body to explode due to lack of orgasm.

Finally, finally, thank god, the damn ice cube melted, and all of Tony's babbling joined cohesively enough to make sense. "Fuck me, Jesus, Steve, please, in me, in me, goddammit, I will die if you don't get in me right now, I will die or you will die, someone will die, I don't care just get in me, fuck..."

Steve leaned his damn face beneath Tony's balls and just laughed into that sensitive skin like it was  _okay to do that without getting him off, fuck!_  "All right, Tony, all right." And his damn breath spread over his wet ass and holy crow, he was going to outright  _die_ , he was dying and Steve was squirting out  _lube_ , the  _bastard_ , and that was  _not_  his dick pushing in, and Tony nearly scratched the skin right off Steve's shoulders. "Get  _in me_ , dammit!"

"You're not wide enough yet, Tony," Steve said, and there was at least enough tightness in that voice to let Tony know Steve was starting to suffer, too. Good. He deserved it. He wasn't yet  _in_  him, and,  _oh_ , fuck, that was Tony's prostate Steve was rubbing up against again. The white hot tightness in his balls came so suddenly Tony could barely tamp it down.

"Get in me or you won't make it," he said, teeth clenched, and Steve finally understood. Of course the man still had to push a third finger in, just a couple good pushes to make sure Tony wasn't too tight, and finally he slid out and rubbed some lube over himself.

"Condom?" Steve asked, his breath finally short, as well.

"Fuck that shit, Steve, just get  _in_ , now–"

Steve grabbed Tony's lips with his. Tony heard the squelching sound of Steve rubbing more lube over himself, and then, thank everything, the feel of Steve's cock hot and hot and  _hot_  against him, slowly pushing in, just the tip, and it slid inside despite the slight tightness of Tony's walls, because he was getting this if it killed him. Steve took it slow, of course he fucking did, and the bastard watched Tony's every move with eyes so black he almost looked like some sort of fallen angel. He very well might have been if he didn't have the hair style of some long-lost patriotic jock.

The thought was enough to pull him back, just barely. Just enough. Just enough for a different curl of warmth to spread out from his chest to his head to his very toes, and instead of trying to claw into Steve's veins, he wrapped his hands around Steve's hair and twisted his head to take on another, deeper kiss.

Only Steve. The words filtered into his brain, no beginning and no end to the thought. Just,  _only Steve_. Only Steve would have a stupid hairstyle like that and not be some loser wannabe, some has-been jock or some open carry nutcase. Only Steve would go this entire time keeping himself so deeply in control, even as he broke Tony apart, to ensure Tony wasn't hurt by what they did. Only Steve would watch Tony go mad with want and still worry about consent. Only Steve – only Steve would be trustworthy enough for Tony to let himself break in the man's arms. Only Steve could stay with Tony long enough for this to happen. Only Steve wouldn't let himself be scared away by the worst of what – of  _who_  – Tony was. Only Steve. Only Steve.

Only Steve was capable of making something as simple as entering Tony an act of love, his every step ensuring Tony wasn't hurt, his touch careful even when Tony couldn't care less about bruises, his lips light on Tony's suddenly, as if searching for one more acquiescence. And Tony gave it, gave and gave, because only Steve could receive it all without taking.

It took time, time for Steve to get wholly within him, and when he did, they were both left panting and gasping into each other's mouths, nearly breathing for one another. But the heat was too much, and after only a few seconds, Tony said, "I need you to move, Steve. Move. Move." And Steve already was, punctuating Tony's demands with sharp, tiny thrusts. They would have pushed Tony back on the bed if Steve's hands weren't digging into his hips. Tony used the security to instigate his own movements, pushing back onto Steve's cock, no longer willing to be a pliant participant. He ran his hands over every inch of Steve he could reach, up his long arms and over their curves to Steve's shoulders and down to his chest, even as he rode up on Steve's dick, his fingers flicking over the hard nubs of Steve's nipples. Steve breathed in sharply, and his next thrust was harder. Tony dug down onto it. "Faster," he said, but Steve was already pounding in harder, his control slipping. Tony deliberately messed up his pacing, going slower of a sudden, until Steve growled and held Tony still, fingers finally tight enough to leave bruises, Steve's control snapping as he shoved deep inside, then back out, his thrusts slapping their flesh together, the wet sounds of Steve's cock sliding in and out nearly overriding their grunts and groans. When that edge returned to Tony's body, clenching tight and hard around Tony's balls and cock and ass, he had no chance to hold it back. It crested like a flash flood, pouring over him so suddenly he shouted and arced off the bed entirely. His release splattered over his and Steve's chests, his body rocking in the aftershocks so hard he thought he might be having a seizure. Steve pumped into him hard for four short bursts before he shouted and curled over Tony almost protectively, his own release heating Tony up from the inside out, chasing away the last vestiges of the ice's cold.

They collapsed to the bed as if they'd just come back from some endless battle, both of them splayed like seaweed over the sheets, huffing and puffing for breath. Tony's head swam. For one glorious moment, there was nothing in there save the sparks left from his orgasm and some vague thought that they were going to be doing this again. And again. And, if he could have his way of it – which he was sure he could – again.

Steve chuckled again and kissed his chest, right where his arc reactor used to be, before struggling gamely to get up. "I think I might like a little bit of ice," he said, and went to get a washcloth. As if the sheets weren't ruined, anyway.

Tony beamed at the man's back as he left.

* * *

Tony woke a week later to the sounds of Steve shifting and mumbling in his sleep. He carefully inched away, just in case it was a dream of a battle. But before he could do more than shuffle around a bit, Steve was surging up. Tony managed to open his mouth before Steve said, in a stuttering gasp, "what the hell?"

And then he... started laughing.

Well. This was new. Tony sat up as Friday turned on the dimmed lights and carefully touched Steve's arm. "Steve? Are you okay? What was it?" He thought for a moment, wondering if Steve was actually laughing hysterically. As in, in hysterics. "Did... did what we did make it worse?" He paled at the thought.

"No." More laughing, though it had subsided into softer chuckles. Steve wrapped his hand around Tony's. "No. Just..." He covered his face and laughed again. "Oh, my God, what... I saw," he said, "you in the ice... again. But this time..." And Steve turned his face enough for Tony to see, in the soft light of the room, the dark, dilated gaze of his lover. "This time I saw you writhing in it, begging me... looking like you did that night."

Tony did not flush. He didn't. It was too dark to tell if he did, anyway. "That's... good?" He looked down to find the sheets tented around Steve's waist. He licked his lips. "Very good?"

Steve laughed again. "That depends." Steve pushed Tony down and rolled on top of him. "How much sleep did you want to get tonight?"

Tony smirked and wrapped his arms around Steve's head, burying his fingers into that lush blond hair. "Please. Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind."


End file.
